


On the Cares and Comforts of Starfish

by LepusBat



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alana's necklace, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Unplanned Pregnancy, maybe au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LepusBat/pseuds/LepusBat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 2.  Hannibloom fic.<br/>The sun is up and the tide is going out. And if I don't throw them in they'll die."<br/>"But, young man, don't you realize that there are miles and miles of beach<br/>and starfish all along it. You can't possibly make a difference!" The young man listened politely.<br/>Then bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it into the sea, past the breaking waves and said-<br/>"It made a difference for that one."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It was late....

It was late. Or early, depending on whatever time zone the pressurized cylinder that smelled of microwave ozone and old dust rocketed past at 30,000 feet. What does time matter in an environment where oxygen is pumped into your lungs and assaults your nasal passages with its dry coldness and you have to cram yourself into a space that was never supposed to be comfortable for any human body. Especially a human body that had most recently been tenderized with the honorable mallet known as FBI Special Agent Jack Crawford. Hannibal tried to roll his shoulders and grimaced. “This is the clearest moment of our friendship”. Indeed. Crystal clear, Jack. Hannibal squirms with discomfort. The cabin is that not quite darkness that is supposed to entice sleep, yet for some makes it impossible. Not that Hannibal could sleep in this place. No matter, means to an end. Transport to a destination. He peers over at Bedelia, who having the forethought to book first class has stretched her seat back to its “sleeper” position. The unending white noise of the engine hides her breathing, but Hannibal can just barely make out a steady rise and fall of breath. The entire cabin seems to be asleep. Wondering about time is pointless, here. The teacup waits suspended, neither falling downward nor spinning back towards its home. Suspension is home for all of the passengers. Still, while so many other’s sleep, Hannibal is restless. The sounds and smells press tight around him. He desires to move. The seatbelt sign has been clicked off long before, and Hannibal stands, feeling his knees and hips crackle. He rolls his shoulders again and the twinges of battle strain his muscles. There is a reminder of time. How less than a day ago, he destroyed those that he loved. He harvested them like wheat, slicing through them with a skilled hand. It cost him, though. It cost him a daughter. It also cost him the truest friend he had ever known. Good Will. So many gifts had been given, only to have them discarded and distained. Hannibal sighed. He needed to move. He had sustained injuries that would not improve and could cause serious complications if he did not keep circulation of blood a priority. Where else could one go, but to the toilet. 

Closer quarters, Hannibal smirked. More oppressive smells. He took off his overcoat and his jacket, hung them on the hook, and rolled up his sleeves to splash water on his face. All lights in the cabin were dimmed, even lights for the bathroom. He stared at the gray outline of his face and rolled his neck. Bruises and dried blood blossomed at his shoulder what Jack had shot him. It was a neat little hole that was easily patched. Hannibal could feel the tightness. Wherever their destination, he would need manipulation of the muscles and tendons after the wound healed. He removed his suit jacket from the hook and strained into it. So close. So cramped. Hannibal hated confinement. Big homes, big cars, big cities to gaze upon. An expansive and ever memory palace to store and save and treasure all he wished. His mind was wandering to large palazzo’s and long, wide galleries, as his hand reached into his breast pocket, as it often did. Suddenly he snapped back to the bathroom, back to the wounds, back to the horrible closeness, his fingers closed around a thin chain. The dim light just barely illuminated a delicate necklace, gold, with what looked to be a tiny star charm as its only pendant. His eyes re-adjusted. No, it was a starfish. His thumb played over the tiny charm as he looped the chain through his fingers. So light, it was almost like silken cord. Alana’s necklace. He smiled and held up the tiny chain in front of his face. The tiny star quivered, suspended in the darkness by the nearly invisable chain. Suspension. As he was suspended by the force and will of the engines of the plane, so too did he wish he could suspend Alana. Run beneath her in the rain and catch her as she slowly drifted down from the shattered window. He shut his eyes. “Stay Blind, Alana…” is what he told her. “Stay Blind, My Love” is what he thought he said. He hoped she would leave. He had begged her to be saved. He would have handed her his heart on a platter if she had just left. He held the tiny charm close to his face, feeling its cold kiss against his lips. Alana’s lips. Soft and warm and honest. Her earnest face as she talked about her concern for good Will and for Abigail. His eyes remained closed as he remembered while they lay in bed, when she smiled her nose scrunched a bit, and when she rode him her eyes closed as she threw her head back and placed her hand on his heart. His heart. His heart that loved so wrong yet so completely. His heart that broke for Will yet ached for Alana. His heart that beat faster and his breathes came quicker in this dark, tight bathroom somewhere in the murky darkness of the world. Suspended before him was Alana. He would catch her and ease her down from the darkness and hold her and kiss her, for no harm would come to her. She was his vessel, and he filled her with his essence; body and soul. His breathing caused pain in his ribs and he opened his eyes. Glitterings of tears rimmed his eyes, like garnets in the darkness. He wrapped the tiny chain so as not to tangle it, and replaced it into his breast pocket. Right above his heart, as her hand once had been. He wished he could be above her again, tracing fingers along her clavicle to her breasts. He wishes he could see her face contort in pleasure as she came against him. His eyes flutter as he remember how her most intimate muscles pulsated around him, causing him to plant his seed deep inside her. She was such a comfort, naked bodies spooned together in the darkness. Soft touches and whispered conversations about nothing and everything that could ever matter in this life. He drew on the curve of her hip with his fingers, and said that it was the best drawing he had ever done and she laughed and kissed him and pulled him back into her and he drowned in the warm liquid darkness of her. He straightens and exits the bathroom to return to his seat. He reclines his chair to stretch his legs, and enters his memory gallery that has been built for Alana. He does not sleep, but he does dream. Dreams of a cozy room, a soft bed, fire crackling and a dark-haired woman that rubs his sore and aching shoulders while whispering kisses into his back.


	2. Still late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana at the hospital

It is late. Or early, depending on if you have the ability to maintain consciousness, not strapped to a bed to keep you immobile, monitored by every machine imaginable, and on serious pain killers. Dr. Alana Bloom was working very hard on trying to successfully maintain 20 minutes of lucidness. She was at about 50%. From what she can tell, the blurs in white coats what her to keep as still as possible while they stabilize her neck, back, and treat her wounds. Then darkness. Enter back into reality as a doctor leans over her and says “….the spinal cord is intact, however, there is some fluid buildup and swelling…” Out again. Back “….Dr. Bloom? We are moving you to a stabilization room. Can you wiggle you toes for me?” Alana remembers that A) That is her name and B) She does in fact know how to wiggle her toes. Out again. Back. This time the room is empty. She blinks at the brightness of the lights. An oxygen cannula is in her nose, shooting cold and sharp air down her nostrils. Everything has a soft and fuzzy quality around the edges, although it is easier to tell where she is now. She remembers this building from residency. Johns Hopkins. She would remember that paint color on block anywhere. Alana can tell she is in a neck brace and a back board. There are two IV’s, an O2 monitor on her finger and two push buttons. One, she assumes is a call, the other for her morphine drip. The hazy, warm, slow feeling is from the morphine. She’s felt it before, when she was in that wreck in her twenties. She had been driving home from a date, she remembered. His name was Mar….Out again. Back again. There are two people in her room. She isn’t sharing it, so Alana feels ok calling this “her” room. One is a what she can only assume is a doctor. The other is a harsh looking woman in a drab brown suit. She stands as Alana begins to focus. “Dr. Bloom? Dr. Bloom, can you understand me? Its Agent Purnell. Dr. Bloom, can you hea…”  
“Agent Purnell, please. Allow me to speak with the patient before your interrogation begins..” Alana’s gaze sharpened as the doctor approached the side of your bed. “Dr. Bloom, I’m Dr. Harris, your trauma physician. I treated you when you first came in…”  
“Dr. Harris… “ Alana rasped, suddenly aware of how sore her throat was  
“Rest your voice, we had to vent you when you first got here. All in all, Dr. Bloom, you are exceedingly lucky…”  
“Lucky…”  
“Yes, very lucky. The spinal cord is intact. The swelling has significantly reduced. All of your contusions from the glass missed major arteries and organs…”  
The glass. The glass from the window. The glass from the window that Abigail pushed her from as she cried and cried and said I’m sorry. The glass from the window in Hannibal’s bedroom. The bedroom where she climbed onto him to rock back and forth on his body as she moaned and he grabbed her hips as he growled her name.  
“Dr. Bloom?”  
She blinked at the doctor. “I’m sorry, I went off again for a moment.”  
“Well, we do have you on muscle relaxers and are going to continue to monitor you. You will be in significant pain, but as of this point I see no reason for you to not make a full recovery.”  
Alana let out a breath she had been aware she was holding. Big mistake. Her whole body felt like a bruise. She gritted her teeth.  
“Now, if you wouldn’t mind telling me if you can feel this.” Dr. Harris ran a prod up and down her arms and legs, also poking them to illicit a response. Her limbs painfully responded.  
Tears sprang to her eyes as the doctor ran his tests. Burning tears of Alana’s breaking and fiery heart  
“How is Will?”  
Dr. Harris looked up from his clipboard and sighed. “Alive. As is Agent Crawford, thank god. They are stable. Unconscious, but stable. You are the first one to wake…”  
“Did you catch him?” Alana whispered “Where is he?”  
Agent Purnell stood from her chair, but Dr. Harris held up a hand  
“Please allow me to finish my evaluations. Then you may have your discussion, as long as Dr. Bloom is able”  
Dr. Harris turned back to the bed. His face was set in a stern line.  
“I apologize for this situation, Dr. Bloom, it is truly less than ideal. Usually this is such a pleasant announcement…”  
Alana was convinced the pain meds were dragging her back under again. That could be the only explanation for Dr. Harris’s behavior. Things began to get fuzzy again and her eyes started to flutter.  
“Dr. Bloom, you are pregnant”

Freddie Lounds adjusted the blue scrubs that slumped off of her shoulder as she purposefully walked through the halls of Johns Hopkins Medical Center. The police scanner told her where the “victims” were going and the general idea of their injuries. Stabbings to the neck and stomach, unknown spinal cord injuries, multiple victims, assailant still at large. This wasn’t the first time she used her “hospital volunteer” (thank god they weren’t “candy stripers” anymore) to get inside information on high profile patients. She found Graham’s room first. He was easy. Lifting up the blanket on an unconscious man cut up like so much meat to snap a few pictures . Nice colostomy bag, Will. The headline “Crazy Guts Cop” pops into her head and she smiles.  
Jack Crawford is a different story. A ventilator breaths for him while a woman who looks like she should be in the bed next to him holds his hand an weeps.  
Only one more left. Abigail coded in the ambulance. They weren’t able to get her back.  
Freddie moves on.  
She approaches the nursing station and smiles at the two nurses, who are shuffling files and writing prescriptions. “Room 78? Spinal swelling and observation? Yes, morphine? Did the doctor ok it for her? She is still in the first trimester you know. Yeah. Poor thing. I guess the father is the one cut up still in Critical. At least she’ll be able to walk. I can’t imagine being pregnant on top of that….”  
They walk quickly away.  
Pregnant. Who’s pregnant?  
Freddie peers over the top of the desk to exposed pile of files. Her teeth start to grind in excitement  
HIPPA be damned. Alana Bloom is having the Chesapeake Ripper’s baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm giving Alana another chapter after this once she comes out of her morphine stupor. Let the boys wake up, too. Also let Freddie get to typing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams and realities

The darkness on her beach was a dark blue, illuminated by star and moon. Her beach's sand was soft and yielding underfoot as she walked. The moon was high in the sky, yet her companion who walked next to her was shrouded in darkness. Shadows encircled them like vines and when the darkness reached for her hand, she took it. She was not afraid, not even when the vines encircled her hand in a loving, yet fortified, snare. The darkness felt like velvet and warm, old leather. Strong yet soft. Protective yet yielding. This wasn't confinement, this was comfort. She smiled, and for some reason she knew the darkness was smiling, too. They continued down the beach until her foot struck something in the sand. She felt pain and the whole scene shimmered, as if it would disappear, but as she knelt to see the cause, her beach solidified again. The darkness knelt with her, and wrapped itself around her shoulders as she picked up the cause of her pain. A star, still wet from the surf, lay brightly in the palm of her hand. She showed the star to the darkness, and the darkness took her hands that held the star and was happy. "Save one", the darkness smiled lovingly at her, "Save two. Save as many as you wish. I will help you. We may even save some, together". Alana smiled, as the darkness wrapped itself around her and her star. She held her star to her chest, above her heart and closed her eyes. Through closed eyes she knew the scene was shimmering. Her darkness had her star, and was holding it as the scene faded. The darkness took shape of a man. A man with alters, European features, and a small smile combined with sad, red eyes. "Our star", the man whispered....

"Alana"

She moaned

"Alana, come on. You are sleeping too much and we need you here."

She grimaced and opened her eyes. Price and Zeller stood at the end of her bed. 

"Guys, I'm sorry. How long have I been out?"

"Well, they've pulled your drip, so pretty much until just now. In and out. I'd be surprised if you remembered much at the hospital..."

"What day is it?"

Jimmy looked pained. "It has been four days, Alana. I'd count myself as lucky." 

In her recent, spotty memory, she remembered a doctor (Harvey? Harris?) saying how lucky she was. For some reason there was a place in her mind that nagged otherwise. For now, she had other things to focus on

"Yes, Jimmy, so they tell me. How are Will and Jack? Are they awake?"

Zeller stepped in. "Jack is. He can't do much talking, but from what I understand he'll recover. Bella is with him. She doesn't have long, apparently. I think he woke for her."

Alana could feel the hot tightness of tears reach her eyes. 

"Will, is not awake. He is stable, but we are just waiting on him. We had an idea that maybe a touch and a word from a friend...."

The tears started. "How much of a friend am I to Will, truly, Brian?" Alana's voice cracked, "If only I had believed him..."

Jimmy put up a hand. "We need to focus on the present, and the present is pretty damn positive. People who I didn't think were going to be alive four days ago are. People who I didn't think were ever going to be able to walk again based are their injuries are." He pulls out a walker. "Just to the wheelchair for a starter. Doc says we have to ease you into it, but the walking has to happen. Then we'll go see Will. He needs you."

Alana re-arranged herself on the bed and with effort and some pain, swung her legs to the floor. With Jimmy and Brian at each elbow to make sure she didn't fall, she managed to make it to the wheelchair. Then, with much fanfare, the little band went to try to wake their friend. Try to bring him back from wherever he was. 

_________________________

They wheeled her next to his bed and she held his hand. "Like you did in prison, you idiotic cow", her brain chided at her. "You put him here just as much as Jack and....." she squeezed Will's hand a bit tighter. Getting her psyche to say his name would be the first part. Convincing her psyche that a man she cared for, and may have even begun to love was a cannibalistic, manipulative, serial killer was going to be impossible. How could it be? Hannibal exhibited no spilt or repressed personality disorder. He was clever and funny and a bit silly, especially when they were alone. The way he would look at her and cup her cheek then pull her into him. Something knocked about in her brain. Was she supposed to remember something? "Stop it, Alana." she told herself aloud.

"Stop what.." Will whispered. Alana grinned and squeezed his hand again. Getting a squeeze back was the best she could hope for, and she got it. 

____________________

The Doctor reminded her again later of what she was supposed to remember. She clenched her hospital gown in front of her stomach and wept. They gave her some more opiates, as the crying was causing intense pain. She drifted off, again, and dreamt of white gowns with bright and burning red blood down the front. Blood like glowing rubies, from the neck and the stomach. She cried and screamed and the blood took a familiar shape as it reached for her and she ran into the soft and strong darkness and waited for it to envelop her in its numbing comfort. 

______________________

Most of the major players involved in the Tattle Crime blog post were A) Not in any position to be reading much or B) absconded from the country to avoid capture. Freddy had a few days before the shit hit the fan. Screaming and gnashing of teeth was her pep talk. The madder people got, the better and usually more accurate the story. She also had hoped that releasing the story would get the monster to come up for air, pompous monster that he was. He wanted to hear about his deeds. If he knew, I mean REALLY knew about "all" of his "deeds", it may make it easier to find him. Freddy was working that angle. If she could get herself involved, I mean permanently involved in this case, which had "Crime of the Century" written all over it, the sky was the limit. Books, Movies, Interviews, Exposes, and FINALLY DAMMIT THOSE PRICKS WOULD RECOGNIZE THAT SHE WAS BETTER THAN THEM. She would buy their awful rags of papers that they ran, fire them, and re-hire them to work as delivery boys and mailroom clerks. She would make them call her "Ms. Fredricka" and make them get her coffee and run her errands and make them feel lower than the flies that buzzed in their offices. Freddy smiles as she hits update. Lets see if the monster has any parental instinct, or at least instinct to "protect his mate". I'll set the snare and spring the trap and laugh as you struggle on the spike, just as you would have done me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me for this. Dreams of fluff and nitty gritty.


	4. By the sea...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic, Postcards, Presents, Parents

The darkness on his beach is tinged with blue. Lights blink from the hills, seemingly communicating with the stars that dot the black blue sky. Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer. Hannibal smirked. Where better to commune than a commune. Where better to try to blink at the distance stars and illicit a response. There is a breeze through the unlit villa, but it is not terribly dark. Bedelia had stayed in Toulon. Towards the end she had feared capture, and her own death. Hannibal understood, and as a thank you, he did not kill her. He would let her go if she agreed not to see. "She was relieved to be rid of me at the end", thought Hannibal "and honestly I was glad to be rid of her." It was getting harder to move under the radar and two traveling together wasn't the disguise he had hoped for. The FBI had made their statements and international manhunt press releases. Will Graham standing with a cane next to the podium, not speaking. He looked smaller, hunched, and in pain. His eyes looked straight into the camera, not seeing, yet touching Hannibal's sense of regret. Hannibal had plans to write Will. A "postcard" of sorts. But what to wish him? Good health? (Hannibal grinned) Luck in the chase? Yes, Hannibal would write to Will. He hoped Jack Crawford would be well enough to join. He had read about the death of Bella, and as an act of condolence, he had sent anonymous flowers. Hannibal wasn't sure if Jack would continue after his fall from grace at the FBI and the death of his wife. Could Will work for anyone but Jack? Would he end up in jail again? "Perish the thought, " Hannibal laughed to himself. 

The breeze continued and wafted the sent of the ocean onto the open balcony where Hannibal sat. A local glass of Château Pradeaux red sat on the tiled floor. Hannibal smelled the grapes and salt, with just a hint of strawberry. Strawberries. He remembered how she loved them and how he loved kissing her after she had eaten them. Hannibal stood and walked to the rail. He reached into his pants pocket and retrieved the necklace. It was always on his person. He had wrapped the tiny chain around his wrist, but he feared breaking it and losing the pendant. Bedelia had teased him about it. "Hannibal, you are what you are yet you harbor this crush? Surely she hates you. Look what you DID to her!" He hadn't disagreed. Abigail was his to control, and he had bid her to defend him, although he did suspect that it was Abigail's jealousy of his love that drove her to push Alana out the window. He wondered if she survived.

He considered the necklace again. Alana must be missing her favorite charm, and it was rude of him not to replace it, since it was he who currently possessed it. He stepped away from the balcony and walked on bare, silent feet into the villa. From the darkness, the glow of a computer screen sprang to life. He would buy and send her a replacement necklace, just as soon as he did some more research on the web, starting with Tattle-Crime. Perhaps he would learn something of the investigation to capture him...

________________________________________________

The three of them had walked the halls of the hospital during their recovery, now it was only two. Jack had been re-admitted due to heart palpitations. Doctors said it was stress related. Since the death of his wife, Crawford had thrown himself headlong into physical recovery to continue the case. He had pushed himself too far. Now, he was resting in a room overnight for observation. If all stayed normal, he could go home the next day, which wasn't much of a relief. Without someone with him, it was likely he would be back here again with the same ailment, but with possible different results. Alana worried after Jack, but at the moment he was stable. She could not say the same for her corridor roaming companion, Will Graham. She hadn't seen much of him since his release, which was a relief to her. She was glad he was busy. It gave her the excuse not have THAT conversation. However, he was picking her back up on his radar, and he was starting to get curious. 

"Would you like a cup of terrible coffee? I need some caffeine and there is a bench outside. The smell of this place is making my stomach turn." Alana said. 

And her stomach was churning, but it was from more than just the hospital smell. 

"Sure" Graham said. 

The exited the hospital and wandered to a small park on the hospital grounds. It was evening, but not too late. Alana and Will sat on the bench. 

"You've been avoiding me" Graham said.

"I know and I'm sorry." Alana took a breath. May as well rip off the bandage..

"I understand why you avoid me, Alana. You've been changed by this..."

Uh oh.

"...and please don't take this the wrong way, but you didn't listen. No one did, and I don't blame you. I don't blame you for wanting to avoid me. You left me out there, Alana. Along with everyone else. They all left me out there. In the end, the only person that was really there for me was the man that stuck a knife in my guts and killed Abigail. He got it. He understood, and I understood that he was the only one that understood. That changes how I see you. It changes how I see everyone. Now please listen because this may get upsetting, but I have to say it. I have to re-acquaint myself with you, Alana. I can't know the old you as the new me. I'd like to start being around you again, but please realize, it will be much different. I don't trust you like I did before, because I can't. You betrayed me, and you didn't see Hannibal for what he was until it was too late. I don't blame you for the betrayal, though. Everything was manipulated until it suddenly wasn't and we were all bleeding and dying on Hannibal's floor as he walked out the door to hide."

Will stopped to sip his coffee. Alana adjusted her body on the bench. In the distance she could see flashes of lightning. The smell of rain hit her nostrils. 

"So bottom line. I want to be your friend. Do you want to be mine?"

Alana sighed. "It looks like there is a storm coming, so at the risk of allowing that metaphor to run wild, I'll be brief." *breaths* "Will, I'm pregnant"

Will turned to her wide eyed and jumped of the bench. A flash of lightening outlined him in darkness. 

"Who's is it, Alana? WHO'S" *distant thunder rumbles*

Alana shut her eyes and lowered her head.

"No..." Will whispered as the wind started to pick up

"Will, please listen..."

She raised her head to see Will walking as fast as he could away from her. It was at that moment that the clouds opened. Alana sat on the bench, watching Will hobble away, her tears being hidden by the rain and the wind.

_____________________________________________________

There have only been a handful of times in his life when Hannibal Lecter had been in a true panic, and when that happened, his body involuntarily shook. He hadn't shaken like this since he found the identities of the men that killed his sister. He had seen the picture of Alana on Tattle-Crime as part of the larger Chesapeake Ripper story. He enjoy'ed Miss Lounds use of the invective when describing the FBI botching of the case. Abigail was dead. He had feared that, and the confirmation stung, but only for a moment. He had made peace that while she was his "creation" he also had the ability to crumple the paper and start again. He made her and he could un-make her. She was his design. He left the room for a moment to retrieve his glass of wine. He wanted something to compliment this most savory dish. He smiled as he caught up with his friends and their desire to bring him to justice. As Miss Lounds wrapped up the article with descriptions of the injuries sustained at his hand (including pictures), his smile turned to a grimace. As usually, very rude Ms. Lounds. I doubt very seriously if you got Will or Alana's permission......

Then he read the caption underneath a photo of a sleeping and prone Dr. Alana Bloom. "Dr. Alana Bloom is expected to make a full recovery, however her progress will be monitored carefully due to the injuries sustained in relation to her pregnancy. No word from family or the expectant father."

Expectant Father. Hannibal's hands started to tremor and his breath rate increased. 

Expectant. Father. 

Hannibal stood up and started pacing. He took the last swallow from his glass as he paced the cool tiles. 

"How could this have happened? How did I not know? Why didn't she tell me? HOW COULD I HAVE ALLOWED ABIGAIL TO HURT HER?!"

The glass broke in his hands. He stopped pacing and stood still as a deer in the wood when it first catches sent of a predator. He clenched his fist and cautiously crept to the kitchen to clean himself. It was a small cut, but it bled like it wasn't. Looking back at this moment, Hannibal always found his own internal dialogue very amusing. 

"How could this have happened? REALLY? You are asking yourself the most base of questions, when you know EXACTLY HOW it happened. I'm sure Alana didn't ask herself HOW. Without sounding profane, Hannibal, if you REALLY wanted to get precise with your calendar, you could probably pinpoint the exact DAY it happened. As for how didn't you know and why didn't she tell you? I doubt she even knew herself. But wait, remember, Hannibal REMEMBER!?! You noticed some differences in her...."

_She was so flushed and pretty the night of the concert. Her eyes sparkled brighter and as you held her hand while the music played, you noticed an increase in pulse. You thought it was the music. Her excitement and pleasure of being with you. Had you only known she was at that very moment growing your "creation".._

My creation. Our creation. One creation (the elder sister) attempting to kill another (the younger sister). Did Abigail know Alana was pregnant? Would that have changed the outcome? Perhaps Abigail would have stabbed her if she knew. Perhaps Abigail was jealous of Alana after all, but for a completely different reason.

No. That was a fantasy. One that brought Hannibal much pleasure, but a fantasy none the less. His ministrations on his hand complete, he grabbed as small broom and dustpan to clean the glass shards from the hall. Then he returned to the computer with a fresh glass of wine. His Alana needed her necklace replaced, and this one would be significant to all three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The strawberries are a nod to 823freckles. Love your fics!!!


	5. Here we go again...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters home...

Alana sits in her car, in the rain, crying, again. Again. This theme of disappointment and regret and anger, oh so much anger, in her life is running against a very painful groove. How dare Will. HOW DARE HIM BE ANGRY AT HER. She wants to pound on the wheel and start her car and find him as he no doubt is walking in the rain. Moody bastard. He wasn't even the pregnant one. HOW DARE HE TAKE MY MOODINESS FROM ME. She exhales and looks at the blotch drops as they cover her windshield. Stealing my moodiness. How silly. Of course he's upset. He is still recovering, probably very fragile mentally and obviously physically. She wipes her eyes and leans back into the seat and listens to the rain drum. The rain blurs objects outside the window to gray blobs. She notices an animated gray blob, jogging towards her car. The gray blob shapes itself into a hangdog, drowned rat of an FBI profiler who knocks at her window. "Alana, I'm sorry. Please open the door." She sighs and rolls down the window. "If you ruin my seats, I'm sending you the bill". Will grimaces as she unlocks the door. 

______________________________________

"Jesus, Alana, when is the last time you opened any mail"

It was shock, Will had told her. Shock, anger and disbelief at the revelation that Alana was currently gestating the offspring of the FBI's number one most wanted serial killer. After the attacks on all of them and further investigation of Hannibal's house, number one with a bullet, as they say. Shee punched him in the arm after he went on and on about how shocked he was. Hello, IM the one pregnant, she had spat at him. He got quiet, then she started talking. She talked for a while. Will had stayed silent, and by the end had grasped her hand and told her anything she needed or wanted, that he would be there to support her. They had to support each other, after all. They were the only ones left. Survivors, he said. 

Over the next weeks, Will had softened. He and Alana took walks and talked only about things they saw. Their conversations rarely, if ever, drifted to the past, only the present and future. He would bring the dogs and cook. She enjoyed the bustle that Will added to her home. It brought home the idea that life, indeed, does go on. With that in mind, Alana had started ordering things online for the "arrival" as she called it. For some reason the idea of people buying her gifts for "fetus-face" (her nickname for the small but growing hump on her midsection) left her with a bad taste in her mouth. She had every intention of embracing the idea of professional single mom with tight knit support team (including a nanny). As the boxes and packages started arriving, however, she started piling them beside her dining room table. 

Alana sighed. "Will, I don't really see the point. I'm clearing out that spare bedroom, and why unpack all of this until its been painted. As it is, I'll probably have to hire someone to assemble the crib" She glared at the large box that had taken two delivery men at least 20 minutes to drag into her home. "I'll have to add a handyman to my list, I suppose". 

"Ahem, madam. What am I? Chopped liver? I'll help you put it together." Will smiled. 

"Anyways, at least open up the smaller ones. Make sure you got sent the right stuff at least..."

His phone rang. Alana peered around the corner to see him grimace and his hand grasped his hip. He looked at her as his phone continued to ring. 

"It's Jack. I gotta take this. Start unwrapping" He walked out the back kitchen door to her sunroom. 

Alana stood before the mound of packages. Boxes with Amazon emblems regarded her with a silent statement. This is happening. Embrace the now, but move forward. Get to it, kiddo. 

She grabbed a handful of soft packages and deposited them on the dining room table. Well not all soft, one seemed to contain a small box. What could that be, she wondered? Pacifiers? Rubber nipples? (she giggled). She retrieved her letter opener and started in. 

After infant undershirts and diaper covers, she was about to tackle the package that contained the box, when she heard the door slam. 

Will looked pale. He was breathing fast as he stared at her. "He made contact."

The letter opener clattered onto the table. Alana stared at him, mouth agape. 

"A letter, special delivery to the FBI Behavioral Science Unit. Addressed to Price and Zeller, that bastard."

"Why Jimmy and Brian?"

Will growled. "The only ones he didn't 'kill', I suppose" 

Alana stared at the table. 

"I gotta get down their. Jimmy and Brian are breaking in a new third wheel on this one. She's qualified as they come on hair and fibers. She interned under Bev before...."

The tears started to well in Alana's eyes. 

Will stopped at this. He moved around the table and knelt before Alana and put a hand on her knee. "I'll keep you as posted as you want me to, Alana. Your OBGYN said to keep your stress down..."

"Well, I'm in the wrong fucking profession and position to consider that now." Alana grumbled. 

Will cocked his head and a whisper of a smile perked his lip. "Atta girl" he patted her knee. "Like I said, I'll let you know what you want."

"I want to know everything, Will. Of course I do. Gotta figure out where to send requests for child support"

Will snorted. 

"Get out of here. Call me later", Alana said. 

The door slammed. Alana sat at the dining room table and closed her eyes. You knew this would happen, she thought. This is what you have to deal with. It is going to keep sucking you back unless you stay here, now, in the present. You have to focus. So many people need you to stay here, including fetus-face. 

She smiled. 

Just get through these small packages. Then you can stare at your phone for the rest of the night. 

The letter opener sliced through the bubble wrapped manila. 

Another smaller package fell onto her table. Postmarked through Denmark. 

Alana's eyes narrowed. What in the world did she order?

Opening the second package. A large envelop with a wax seal fell onto her table, along with a small white cardboard box. Cartier. 

Her hands started trembling as she turned the envelope. 

"Alana" in that copperplate script. That script that graced notes and invitations. That script that caused a cold spot deep in the pit of her stomach.

Her eyes darted around the room. She should call Will. Or Jack. Heck, the front desk at the FBI would most likely take her call. Two letters. Hannibal was certainly interested in contact. 

This one was hers. 

She put on rubber gloves and loosened the wax. The letter was short. Pictures framed the manuscript. Vines with stars as buds encircled the words. At the bottom was a drawing of a women. A black fog trailed around her shoulders like a cape. A star crown halo encircled her head as she looked upward. Her hands cradled a pregnant belly. The face was familiar. Of course it was. 

Alana breathed. She had been holding her breath. 

_Dearest Alana  
I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. I apologize for the tardiness of this letter. I have found myself starting this correspondence to you in the past weeks, but have always found the word lacking. Not enough. I cannot do justice to my emotions surround the events that led to our parting. Do any of us have the words...._

Oh I've got a fucking word for you, Doctor...

*breath* Keep reading, Alana

_to justify the actions. I confess to you, my mother confessor *wink* that they were unavoidable._

Wait, did he just wink at me?

_I am guilty of many things. Many of them you are acquainted with. I apologize for Abigail. It saddened me to hear of her passing, but I was relieved you were not badly hurt. Truly, Alana, I would not have hurt you. Not you. I am not meant for life in a cage, and my actions were simply to avoid such._

_I could write tomes to you that chronicle my regret and loss. My life seems to be built on such. Please believe me when I say I mourn us. Yes, Alana, we were an "us". I felt it. I know you did as well. We could have had it all, as they say...._

Tears dropped to the table. Alana touched the page

_Dearest Alana, accept this token of my permanent devotion and attention. It is small, but I hope to send you more. I have also enclosed a way for you to contact me. It may take some time, but my plan is eventually for us to come together again. For our sakes, as well as the one that you cradle in your lovely womb. Please do not doubt my love for you, and although the rage will equal it, I do not doubt your love for me. Take care, Beloved. Hannibal_

_P.S - I do hope you like it. I had it made with you in mind._  
Your starfish necklace has been such a comfort and a symbol  
of hope to me. I hope this will eventually comfort you as it  
does me. I picked the colors especially for us. xoxoxox H 

Alana was crying, openly. She reached for the small box. Inside was a velvet case. A small piece of paper wrapped the box. It was PO box, somewhere in France. She laid the paper on the table. The box opened with a slight squeak. Inside was white gold chain. The pendant was two white gold starfish. One held a blue stone, the second held a red. They were connected together. Further up the chain, but not far, was a small sliding star. This piece slid up and down the length of the chain. It was a purple. 

Alana held the pendant in the palm of her hand and closed it into a fist. She put her head down on the table and sobbed. 

Time passed. Will called, but Alana didn't answer. She left the packages on the table. The letter, envelop, address and box were placed in her nightstand drawer. The lights were out and the house was quiet. Alana touched the pendant at her neck. She smiled. She was going to have a pen pal. A very special pen pal. He better be ready for her first letter. It was going to be a doozie.  
.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from the Ray Charles song off of the "Ray Charles Invites you to Listen" album.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit rusty, y'all. This is going to be a multi chapter work.


End file.
